


Visions

by Lyxari, matchka



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood, Dark!Marco, M/M, Other, general creepiness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyxari/pseuds/Lyxari, https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchka/pseuds/matchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know it's true, that visions are seldom all they seem</p>
<p>but if I know you, I know what you'll do</p>
<p>You'll love me at once, the way you did once, upon a dream...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ownly-lownly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ownly-lownly), [matchka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchka/gifts).



> The results of excited yodeling about this song:
> 
> http://freckledbodtsoldier.tumblr.com/post/77857978763/another-downpitch-for-dark-marco-i-really-like
> 
> in a chat with Thehalfbodtprince, ownly-lownly, kimioon, and monkeysocks on Skype. OwO
> 
> Thaaaank you Monk and Jamie for betaing for meee
> 
> (please listen to the song while you read it is VERY IMPORTANT)

It’s too quiet.

Eerily so. Even Jean’s footsteps seem muffled as he steps through the dark streets of Trost. Many sections of his hometown are still uninhabited, untouched in the aftermath of the tragedy that struck. Yet still, sometimes Jean finds comfort in wandering the old paths of his childhood. His feet trace familiar routes and he lets his mind wander.

The moon is full tonight, and it bathes the scenery in a dull light, illuminating the streets in a way that makes everything ethereal. It is nights like this that Jean both loves and hates the most, because he finds that if he wanders far enough – allows his mind to go blank enough – he can sometimes almost hear a familiar, warm voice humming into his ear, dreamy and distant, fading in and out just beneath Jean’s awareness and only barely registering in his ears. It fills him simultaneously with a deep warmth and unending sadness – he misses that voice so very, very much. Memories of talking together late into the night, whispered secrets and words of encouragement, vocal tics that he will never hear again – Jean’s heart aches with the loss when the humming begins again, as it always does on these moonlit nights.

It takes Jean a few minutes to realize that this time, rather than fading away, the humming is growing louder, more tangible. He looks up to see that he has walked himself into a dead end, in what used to be the slums of Trost. It is barren now, empty and silent – save for that distant _humming_ , that humming that’s coming closer and closer. As the volume grows and becomes clearer, Jean begins to hear footsteps accompanying the tune, slow and steady; a familiar pace but at the same time somehow _wrong_. Jean’s fists clench – he is _not_  going crazy, goddammit, he has to pull himself together—

“Jean.”

Jean’s gaze snaps to the mouth of the alley so quickly that his neck cracks, and he knows it’s going to hurt in the morning but he – he couldn’t have imagined it and this is impossible, and—

“Jean,” Marco hums again, stepping out of the shadows and into the moonlight, smile warm in the frigid glow. He resumes humming that same tune, the tune that has been haunting Jean’s senses ever since he first found Marco’s body, torn and bloody, and heard it as he walked away from the horrifying image his best friend’s corpse made.

“M—marco? how--” Jean’s voice catches as he stumbles out his confusion, frozen where he stands as this Marco approaches him, intact and whole, alright but somehow _wrong_. Marco’s dark trenchcoat flutters with his gait as he stalks up to Jean, still humming gently, and Jean notices an unnatural glint at Marco’s side – a blade? His voice dies with the icy grip of fear in his throat as Marco lifts the knife, its sharp edge glinting in the moonlight and reflecting in Marco’s dark gaze. The freckled man breaks off his humming again as he draws nearer.

“I missed you, Jean – did you miss me?  Please don’t be mad,” Marco whispers into Jean’s ear when he presses close enough, and Jean shudders when he feels the cold bite of steel running lightly up his throat. “I had to disappear for a while, but I know you aren’t mad at me. You could never be, could you?” Marco’s voice echoes in Jean’s ears, consuming him, and Marco’s humming gives way to quietly sung words, breathed into Jean’s ear – “ _I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream, I know you that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam,_ ”

Jean barely notices the bite of the blade breaking his skin, or the sticky slickness of his own blood dripping down his neck, pooling in his collarbone. He is too entranced be the sight of Marco – Marco, in front of him. Marco, alive. Marco smiling at him, Marco, Marco, Marco—but this Marco is wrong, somehow. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and they glint dangerously as Marco dips the tip of his knife into Jean’s blood and brings the point up to his cheek, draws a heart out in crimson on Jean’s face, and it’s Marco. It’s always been Marco everything has always been Marco--

“ _And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem, but if I know you, I know what you’ll do…_ ”

Marco presses Jean against the rough wall, cuts Jean’s shirt open, and Jean gasps this time when the blade cuts him, but he’s gasping into Marco’s mouth and they’re pressed together. The stinging continues on his chest, over his heart, until Marco is pulling back, bites Jean’s lower lip hard enough for the metallic taste of blood to blossom over their tongues. Jean glances down for half a second, sees the heart that Marco carved into his chest, and Marco grabs Jean’s hand, raises their fingers to the marks together.

“ _You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…_ ”

Their fingers lace together and Marco’s other hand is around Jean’s waist, when Marco pulls Jean around in slow circles, waltzing in time to his tune. Jean leans heavily against Marco, stumbling, woozy as the amount of blood he has lost begins to affect him.

They continue like that for – a few minutes? Hours? Days? Jean can’t tell. All he knows is Marco, humming into his hair, guiding him around gently. It occurs to Jean that he hasn’t said anything to Marco yet, but he keeps quiet, afraid that speaking might break whatever spell Marco seems to have over him.

The waltz slows until Marco has them at a standstill again, holding Jean to him. He is still humming, and continues to do so as he presses the blade into Jean’s stomach, agonizingly slow, pushing as deep as the blade will go. Jean hisses sharply and he spasms in Marco’s grip, the wound sapping what little strength he has left.

Marco holds Jean up and presses their lips together once more while he gently lowers Jean to the ground, until the wounded man is lying on the ground with his head in Marco’s lap. The edges of his vision fade until all he can see is the smile on Marco’s lips – a little too wide, a little unnatural now – and all he can hear is Marco’s voice, fading in and out.

_“…You loved me at once, the way you did once_

_“upon_

_“a_

_“dream…”_

**Author's Note:**

> aahahhaaha I'm sorry. I"m not sorry.


End file.
